The Wind in Our Sails
by RandmWriter
Summary: "He's not gonna last the nights, is he?" Sherlock knew there would come a time when he and Redbeard would have to say goodbye - but it's hard to let go of the only thing you hold on to...


**~THE WIND IN OUR SAILS~**

* * *

_Redbeard_

That was the only thing on an 8-year-old Sherlock's mind. His fingers were twitching and his leg was shaking while sitting in the vet's waiting room. A 15-year-old Mycroft only observed his sibling's unusual behavior.

"My?" Sherlock said, his voice so small. Mycroft's eyebrows raised. He had never heard that tone of voice from his little brother, who always hated to be seen as weak. Of course Mycroft could understand considering Redbeard's condition being so...

"He's not gonna last the night is he?" Sherlock's voice was now sounding slightly choked. He could tell his bother's throat began to feel smaller due to his unusual breathing pattern. Oh God, not now. His parents were inside, talking to the vet and if Sherlock would burst into tears, well, he was not exactly the comforting type.

He opened his mouth to say "_Obviously, Sherlock. You saw the condition he was in. Even idiots don't need to deduce that. Do think, brother mine."._ But then, he looked down and saw Sherlock's eyes. That silenced him. His brother's eyes were filled with unshed tears. He looked so vulnerable and pleading. He looked like a small child - which he was - finally facing the reality of life. Facing the hurt and burdens someone as young as him should never have to experience. As cold as he was, he loved his brother dearly, and wanted nothing more than to take the pain away with words of comfort.

But he could not bring himself to lie either.

"Sherlock look, Redbeard is a little ill and they are helping them as best they can." He said, technically not lying. Unfortunately, this only seemed to provoke the curly-haired child.

Sherlock stood up quickly, his fists clenched at his sides, and he angrily turned to his brother.

"Stop it Mycroft! Tell me the truth! I'm not stupid like you like to believe! I know Redbeard's really sick and more than just 'a little ill' so stop sugar-coating it and give it to me straight!" He had angry tears sliding down his cheeks. This did not affect Mycroft as much as the statement that followed, which the young Holmes said in a voice that held so much emotion, pain and grief that no one of his age should posses. "Please, My. Tell me."

Mycroft did something he had not expected to do. He knelt down and gathered his brother in his arms. He had only done this on a number of occasions, but this time was the only time he felt truly close to him. Maybe it was because of his brother's vulnerable state, or the feeling of wetness on his sweater vest, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was there, Sherlock was there, and that was all that mattered.

"I'm sorry. I wish you were wrong," He whispered into his brother's ear, who only clung to him tighter, his little fingers latching on to the fabric of his clothes.

Mycroft knew how hard it was for him. He remembered the day they had gotten Redbeard when he was a mere pup. '_He can be your dog too My! I'll be captain but he'll be my first mate! You can be the crew that scrubs the deck!' The young Sherlock then proceeded to nuzzle the pup and had grinned from ear to ear._

He remembered how happy Sherlock was, and looked down at the now-crying boy in his arms.

_'You see brother dear - caring is not an advantage.' _He was tempted to say that, but he held his tongue. Not now.

It was in that intimate moment between brothers did the vet choose to come in. Sherlock was still crying, but less than before. Mycroft looked up and his eyes conveyed the message he did not voice: '_Is it time?'__  
_

The vet nodded sadly.

Mycroft's expression was grave but he nodded nonetheless. He patted Sherlock - who was now sniffling - on the back and whispered into his ear. "Sherlock. Time to say goodbye. You don't have to if you don't want to." He did not mean to be so forward, but he could not find any other words.

Instead of sobbing some more, Sherlock relinquished his hold on his brother and rubbed his eyes. He nodded and put on a brave face. The youngest Holmes took a deep breath and spoke in the strongest voice he could muster.

"A good captain always goes down with the ship."

* * *

Sherlock entered the sterile-white room. He was alone, since his family decided to give him this moment of privacy. On the table was Redbeard. He looked so weak and fragile, but when his gaze fell on Sherlock, who was now kneeling on the chair next to the table, he immediately perked up and slightly wagged his tail. Sherlock smiled sadly.

"That's no way a first-mate should greet his captain," he said, lightly scolding, but the grief in his voice overpowered it.

Redbeard, hearing the order, lifted his head weakly and licked Sherlock's face. Sherlock laughed through the tears and stroked his pet's fur.

It was followed by a moment of silence, but the silence was what spoke the most. He could almost hear Redbeard's thoughts, and Redbeard, his. The room was filled with silent voices of apologies, laughs, bantering, and words of tenderness they had never had the chance to say until it was time to say goodbye. Sherlock studied the dog completely, memorizing every feature of him as if he were a person, but in the boys eyes, it did not matter if he was human or not. In the end, he was a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I won't experiment on you boy," he said, knowing he would have taken the opportunity if it was any other dog. But Redbeard wasn't just any other dog. The said animal looked at him quizzically, as if asking, '_Why not?'_

Sherlock laughed again. "Because you're my best friend you idiot! You're my first mate!"

He heard the doctor come in and looked up to see her loading an injection. He knew what it was, and looked down at Redbeard again, who was so peaceful, as if accepting his fate. That is what caused Sherlock to cry.

He hugged his best friend's neck and sobbed into it. He cried until there were no more tears left, which - at that time - he did not know was humanly possible. He hardly paid attention to the new discovery. He mumbled words of love to his dog, not caring if the vet - and his family, who was silently standing at the door - was watching.

When he regained control of his breathing, he knew it was time. It would have to happen sooner or later, he was only delaying the inevitable. He looked up with his red-rimmed and nodded to the vet who injected the needle.

He took Redbeard's head in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. New tears sprang from his eyes, a river of salty water now flowing down his cheeks. As the vet pushed down on the injection's plunger, he whispered the last words his only friend would ever hear - in a voice so filled with pain, grief, and regret.

"'Till the next time we set sail, matey."


End file.
